


The Weak

by GiggleSnortBangDead



Series: The Strong and the Weak [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 22:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiggleSnortBangDead/pseuds/GiggleSnortBangDead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath, Stiles refuses to believe he could possibly need anything but time to help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weak

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series. There's a first part to it. So, uhm, maybe go read that before this? Or read this one first. I mean, sometimes it better to know if you hate the end so you don't waste time with the beginning, you know what I'm saying?

The next morning, Stiles drove to the slowly-being-renovated Hale House. He was sore and exhausted and feeling wrecked as he pulled up. Derek and Scott had both stepped out onto the porch, having heard his approach. It seemed like it was another work day for the pack, when they all came together to help fix up the house. 

As he walked up the steps, his first question was, “Is Isaac here?”

Scott shrugged. “No. We thought he was with you.” He then grinned, though he tried to sound disapproving as he said, “You reek of him. Like, more than usual. And you look way tired. Late night?” He winked. 

Stiles did not find that as amusing as Scott had clearly hoped he would and did not respond. He looked to Derek. “Can we talk inside?” And the man nodded, leading him in. Scott trailed behind them, seeming put of by Stiles’s lack of usual cheer and wit.

Once inside the kitchen, where Derek entertained all guests, Stiles asked, his voice coming out angrier than he intended, “Did you know that the anniversary of Isaac’s dad’s death was yesterday?”

Derek looked taken aback. “No,” he admitted. 

“Why not? Don’t you think someone should have remembered that?” Stiles snapped.

“You could have.” Derek countered. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“Well, it does.” Stiles bit out.

“Dude, calm down.” Scott said, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Stiles immediately pushed it off like it burned, turning on Derek again.

“You would think that his fucking _Alpha_ would care enough to try and keep stuff like this in mind. But, oh, I forgot that I’m dealing with Mr. Incompetent who can’t watch out for his betas or protect the pack without fucking it up somehow. God, why would I expect any of you to be able to do anything, like keep a simple date on hand?”

Scott balked at him. “Jesus, dude, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Derek had looked mad for only a second, his eyes flashing with Scott’s, but, as a vague sort of understanding smoothed his features, he calmly articulated, “Stiles. Did Isaac do something?”

Stiles clammed up all of a sudden and looked down at his feet. Using all of his might, he was able to murmur, “Somebody should have been keeping an eye on him.”

Derek asked very slowly, “Stiles, what did he do?”

“He...” Stiles hesitated, thinking of how to phrase it, “He got out of hand last night.”

“Ugh, I do _not_ want to hear about your rough sex with Isaac,” Scott groaned, as if the idea physically hurt him. 

Derek immediately said, “Scott, go outside.”

“What?” Scott asked, defensively, looking between the other two. They were silent until he sighed dramatically and left. 

“Okay.” Derek began. “You need to tell me what he did to you and the severity as clearly as you can.”

“It was bad.” Stiles said. He felt himself choking up, so he rubbed at his eyes to make it go away. He let his palms rest over his closed eyelids for a moment. “It was so horrible, Derek. He... We... His father mut have done some awful things to him - more than we knew - and he just snapped last night.” He put his hands down, placing one on the counter to steady him because he was shaking and overheated and felt close to passing out.

Derek quickly grabbed him a chair, which Stiles collapsed into instantly, and pulled a water bottle from the cooler, unscrewing the cap for him. He took a chair for himself so he could sit level with the teenager.

“I think his father... uhm... _Sexually_.” and the word tumbled from his mouth and was probably nothing Derek hadn’t guessed by now but it still hung in the room, heavy and awkward.

“They used to play these games - and they’re bad games, Derek - and he played them with me last night.” Hushed, as if ashamed, Stiles admitted, “I think Isaac needs help because he’s not okay anymore.”

Derek had been listened, looking impassive as he usually did when hearing something upsetting, and now nodded once. He spoke in an even, soft voice. His eyes held a certain sympathy the few times Stiles could actually bring himself to meet them. 

“I’m very glad you came to me with this, Stiles. You have done nothing wrong. Okay?” And he waited for Stiles to give him a sign to show he understood. Stiles nodded because he didn’t think he could speak. “We’re going to take care of you - and we’ll make sure Isaac gets the help he needs.”

“Okay.” Stiles said, and the word hitched with his breath, betraying how close he was to breaking down. Derek made a distressed noise in the back of his throat that was almost so quiet Stiles wouldn’t have been able to hear it if the room hadn’t been otherwise silent. 

Stiles understood the sound came from an animal place that saw Pack in pain and wanted to provide comfort. Increasingly over the years, he’d seen Derek soothe everyone else with a steady hand on their shoulder or a gentle stroke to the back of their neck. Werewolves were a haptic group and their brand of comfort was no different. However, the sound was only emitted because Derek could not comfort Stiles tactilely as he would the others. 

For a brief second, Stiles knew with all of his being it was because Isaac had made him untouchable. He would dirty the fingers of the Alpha. Almost as quickly as that thought came, he rationalized that it was only because Derek was afraid of scaring him, not from fear of ruining his own person. 

He tried to remember this as stood. Derek followed, standing abruptly as well. “I’m going to go home now.”

“Of course.” Derek nodded. “Do you want me to have Scott drive you home?”

Stiles resisted the urge to glare at him and said an icy, “I’m not completely useless now.”

Derek put his hands up as if to placate, looking as if Stiles was the one with power here. “No, I... Of course you’re not.” 

His voice conveyed a type of worry, as if Stiles could do any damage if angered. The notion made Stiles want to cry or scream or throw something at him. It was offensive, insulting, for Derek to act like Stiles could do anything to him. Stiles would never forget where power lay. It was one of the few things he was certain of anymore.

Derek asked. “Do you want to see Isaac again?”

Stiles didn’t even have to pause or consider it. It was a no-brainer.

“No.”

Walking out to his car, he saw Scott’s face and could not stand the pity. He walked to his jeep a little quicker, not responding, or even really hearing, any of his friend’s questions or comments or apologies.

~~~~~

Isaac had been gone when Stiles woke up. Evidence that he’d been there existed - the bruises, the wet spots, the soreness - but he, physically, was missing. Stiles had been able to breathe easy - or, at least, easier - as he had limped into the bathroom to shower and overthink and avoid eye contact with himself in the mirror.

Returning home now, Stiles was uncertain if he could go back into his room. Stiles didn’t rationally believe that Isaac would be there, just waiting for him. However, the frantic, irrational part that had not slowed down since the night before was telling him to run away. To go and hide somewhere Isaac would never find him.

But he entered and Isaac was not there - though last night still was, hanging heavy in the air and Stiles’s sheets. Stiles wanted to open a window to let some air in, then rethought it and considered buying a bolt.

~~~~~

When Derek brings him news, it’s four in the afternoon and Stiles had been shacking up in his room for hours, watching his window. Derek uses the front door, which is something Stiles didn’t think he’d live to see. His father was the one who answered the doorbell and called up to him, telling him he had company.

Stile came down to see Derek and Scott, both looking very solemn in his living room, and his first thought was _Oh, they killed him_ which brings a swell of emotions that he couldn't understand. Without saying much, he lead them upstairs.

In his room, Derek says, “Boyd is driving Isaac to a friendly pack I know in Iowa right now. They’ll be able to take him in and get him help.”

“Oh.” was all Stiles could bring himself to say.

“Stiles, I’m so sorry.” Scott immediately gushed. “I didn’t know. If I’d-”

“Stop.” Stiles said, putting one hand up. “It’s fine, Scott.” Scott didn’t really look like he agreed but he stopped talking nonetheless.

“What do you want us to do?” Derek asked.

“Go home.” Stiles ordered, then added. “Please. I’m tired.”

“I mean,” Derek said, “For you. What do we do to help you?”

Stiles blinked at the two of them. “I’ll be fine in a couple of days. It was just one bad night and I’ve had plenty of those.”

Derek and Scott exchanged a look that was all kinds of confused and pitying and absolutely frustrating for Stiles to be witness to.

“I don’t think that this can be called just another bad night.” Scott said, slowly.

“Well, it was my night so I think I’ll call it whatever I damn well choose.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, in that same insulting, steady voice, as if Stiles was a dangerous and volatile thing. “I’m not saying you should do anything right now but I think you may want to look into talking to someone in a few days.”

“Right, because you’re so good at dealing with your problems.” Stiles snapped.

“This isn’t about him.” Scott said, his voice rising. “This is about you needing help.”

“What I _need_ is for you two to get out of my house and leave me alone.” Stiles yelled back. “I don’t want to talk about this. Ever. Okay? So, go away and stop thinking about it or me or who needs what kind of help. Just leave me alone.”

Scott looked like he was getting ready to shout back but Derek put a hand on his shoulder and lead him out of the room. Stiles kept his door open and listened to Derek exchange some words with his father which Stiles couldn’t totally make out.

When his father came upstairs after they left, Stiles met him in his doorway and asked, “What did they tell you?”

The sheriff looked uneasy, resting his hands on his hips. “They told me that your boyfriend went to Iowa and that I should keep and eye on you.” Stiles nodded. “There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?” Stiles nodded again. “You wanna tell me about it now or later?” 

Stiles said, “Later,” and meant never.

Which turned out to not be true because three nights later, when he was making dinner, his father walked into the kitchen so quietly that Stiles didn’t hear him, and moved behind him, placing one hand on the back of his son’s neck, looking over his shoulder at what he was cooking.

Stiles had jumped, spilling boiling water and half-cooked pasta all over the stove and burning himself. He didn’t feel it initially, being too busy brandishing a wooden spoon at his father, trying to keep him at an arm’s distance.

He realized what he was doing and the spoon clattered to the floor. He took a half step towards his father, rapidly trying to think of an explanation. That didn’t seem to be as important to the sheriff, who quickly grabbed Stiles’s arm and held it under cold water, leaving once to turn off the stove.

His dad didn’t have to say anything, didn’t have to ask, for Stiles to start talking. Before he knew it, Stiles had told his father everything he could about his last night with Isaac. Stiles did not break down, but his father did, being furious and shocked and heartbroken that this had happened to the only family he had left.

When the sheriff’s conversation had turned to vengeance, Stiles had immediately shut him down. He repeated a mantra of _he was fine - it was over - he didn’t want to see Isaac again_ until his dad had understood and let it be.

He offered to finish dinner which Stiles had adamantly refused to let him do. His father began to speak to him in that voice that pretended like Stiles had any sort of sway over anything. Stiles thought he might rip off his own ears if he heard that voice again.

~~~~~

“They treat me like I’m made of glass.” Stiles said to the therapist that Derek had recommend and his father had insisted upon.

She nodded and asked: “Do you feel like you’re made of glass?”

“No,” he shook his head. “No, I’m made of dirt. Dirt can take a beating. Dirt can go through shit. Only problem is, after, you can’t really tell which is which.”

“Are you trying to say that you can’t tell between you and the assault anymore?”

 _The Assault_ was quickly becoming one of Stiles’s favorite terms. No one ever said what _The Assault_ really was - the word being too dirty to say. Stiles couldn’t even bring himself to say it in the silence of his own room when alone. No wonder Isaac had lost it.

“I’m saying other people can’t.”

“Why do you think that is?”

Stiles shrugged. “Because what happened to me is more vivid than I am.”

She regarded him for a moment. “Do you really believe that?”

Stiles shrugged again and looked down at his hands. “I don’t know.”

“Do you mind if I ask about Isaac?”

“Knock yourself out.”

“Do you know how he’s doing?”

Stiles exhaled slowly. “Very well, I hear. Of course, no one tells me anything, but it's easy enough to overhear something from time to time. Apparently, he’s sorry. Which is nice for him.” And he rolled his eyes, conveying how much he thought of that sentiment. 

“Oh?” His therapist raised her eyebrows.

“Well, I’m sorry it happened too. Doesn't really help anything.” He shifted on the couch, feeling uncomfortable.

“But you didn’t do anything wrong. You do know that right?”

Stiles forced a smile and said a sardonic, “It’s all relative anyway, isn’t it?”

“Stiles, be serious.”

“Why? I don’t want to be here. You’re only here because they’re paying you. No one needs to be here or be serious. I don’t need help. I need time.”

She looked him over silently for a moment. “Well, I can’t help you if you don’t want help, Stiles.”

“Awesome. Then I’m wasting both of our time and should get going. Nice to meet you, Doc, but I got a terrifying existence to stumble through, so...” He started to stand up to leave.

“See, you say things like that and it makes me think you may really want to be here. Why are you so opposed to therapy?”

Stiles sighed, feeling annoyed, sitting back down on the couch. He reiterated, “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“I see. And did Isaac ever talk to anyone regarding his relationship with his father prior to his relocation?”

Stiles stared at her, and he felt himself gaping. “Are you... Are you trying to insinuate that I could ever do something like this?”

“No.” She shook her head and sounded genuine enough for Stiles to not stomp off in anger. “But, I’m fairly certain, from what you've told me, Isaac didn’t seem capable of doing this either. Not talking about it may be easier for you, but it could cause you problems later on. You may find it difficult to trust people or become intimate or value yourself the way you used to. 

“Finding someone to talk to could help you figure out some ways to deal with any problems that may occur due to what happened. You can ways to prevent more from occurring. We can discuss ways to talk to your friends and father about treating you like they used to. Needing help doesn’t make us weak, Stiles. There is nothing wrong with this.”

Stiles was silent for a few seconds, considering all of this, before nodding. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s do this.”

**Author's Note:**

> I swear to God, I was not going to write this. But, all of the comments in the last one had to do with a sequel and I feel like I owe you guys and I'm not good with peer pressure. So, the first one was supposed to be a stand-alone piece and now I have this. Because it wasn't planned, I don't know how it turned out. I hope it seems okay and it satisfies what everyone was looking for with the continuation.


End file.
